


If You Could Show Me

by soullessbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Attempted Seduction, M/M, Smut, Weechesters, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, Young Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/pseuds/soullessbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Sam can learn about sex, then maybe Dean won't have to go and sleep with other people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Could Show Me

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Sam is fourteen.

If he listens to the dark, he can hear Dean breathe. It’s clearer in a bedroom, a house bedroom, than a motel. John had left them in a rental that Bobby secured. There’s a monster, something he said it would take time for him to handle, and he had to leave. Sam couldn’t rattle through a month or two of school from a motel.

So Sam listens. He measures his exhale so it’s softer than his heartbeat. Dean grumbles through a snore. He’s on the other side of the bed, still in the clothes he went out in. Still with the leather wrapped around his back. He stinks. Stinks of her.

Whatever her name is, Sam doesn’t like her. He doesn’t like her stupid blonde hair and blue eyes. Or red hair and blue eyes. Dark brown and dark brown. He’s never seen her, but he knows that he hates her. That she’s not good enough for Dean. That no one is.

That _he_ isn’t.

Sam peels himself from the mattress. He reaches under his side of the bed and pulls out a worn copy of a skin mag. It’s Dean’s. The pages are crumpled and some of the ink shine has rubbed away at its edges. He climbs off the mattress and hesitates. That magazine is against his chest to stop any rustle. Dean’s still snoring. Sam can smell the alcohol from him. That means he used an older fake ID. That means that she was older. More experienced. Dean would have liked it.

It steadies Sam’s resolve.

The floorboards need replacing and they warn Sam against his plan at every other step. He makes it out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, but he waits at the door until he hears another snore. It’s safe. He closes the bathroom door behind him and turns on the light. It takes a few seconds to adjust, but Sam blinks fast until he loses the sting.

Sam puts the magazine onto the sink and opens it. Even though he’s alone, his skin flushes at the sight of bare breasts and stars over spread legs. He takes a deep breath and positions the pages under the taps to pin them in place. It’s difficult, but he can still read the text with the pages half-bent and the centre shadowed.

It’s embarrassing. He’s alone, and it’s embarrassing.

He reads over a few lines and looks at himself in the mirror. His reflection looks just as worried as he is, so Sam clears his throat and lowers his chin. He’s fixed onto his own gaze through his lashes. The words repeat through his head a few times until they stop sounding weird and start sounding like a sentence.

“I want you, Dean,” he whispers.

His skin flushes crimson and Sam can feel the shiver at the back of his voice. The house around him is silent. Sam can’t hear Dean’s snores, which means that Dean can’t hear him talking.

“I, I’m so wet for you,” Sam tries again, “all wet for, for your, your, um, your thick c-cock.”

Sam looks back at the magazine. His thumb flicks past a photo-shoot and lands on the reader’s stories page. The title, _Sexy Anal Adventure_ , makes Sam shiver. He reads quickly. It’s some bullshit about a guy living on his own and a charity worker begging for cash. She ends up bent over his kitchen table and eases around his dick. Sam lingers over the few sentences where the guy fucks her with his fingers and uses that to lube her hole ready for him. The man in the story fucks her, pleased to note that her pussy has lubed his cock up, too.

He looks up again and closes his eyes. He’s asking Dean to give money to a dog shelter, and Dean snorts. He’s begging. “I’ll, I’ll do anything for the dogs, please, anything” and “God, please, Dean, f-fuck me, please fuck me” are panted onto the glass. Sam looks down at he’s hard, pushed up against his waistband. He pushes the pyjama bottoms underneath his hips and grabs his dick.

“F-fuck me open and, and I, I want to feel you, feel you come in me. M-make me wetter.”

The bathroom door opens and Sam yelps. He stuffs himself away and finds Dean standing there, rubbing his eyes and smirking.

“Dean!”

“I was gonna ask what you’re doing, but fuck, Sammy.”

“Dean, I was just—”

Dean has already turned. He’s going back towards the bedroom. Sam balls the magazine in his fist and he runs after him. Dean yanks off his jacket and pulls off his shirt. Sam’s useless in the doorway. He picks the lines of muscle in Dean’s back and swallows, but Dean speaks first.

“Dude, you need to jack off, don’t let me stop you.”

“I’m not! I wasn’t—!”

“Don’t be ashamed, man. You do what you gotta do. I’ll knock next time, jeez.”

A cold fist snakes behind Sam’s stomach. It fights against the heat of his cheeks and he’s not sure where to look. Dean kicks out of his jeans and lies on his side away from him. Sam could go back to the bathroom, practice more, or just palm his erection until it goes, until he can think about this. He bites his lip, stuck in the doorway.

“Seriously, Sammy. Go do it. You’re being weird.”

“Dean, I, it’s not, god, Dean—”

“Either ask me a question or let me get the fuck back to sleep.”

Sam whimpers. “I was just, I need, Dean, you’re going to—”

Dean sits up. Sam can see his frown in the grey light and it makes his lungs ache. His cock, too, with the way shadows crease across the bend in his middle.

“Sammy?”

Before Sam can lose any more confidence, he crosses the room. He sits on the edge of the bed and worry translates to a choked sob. Dean jolts and tugs him closer, hands on his shoulders so that Sam’s knees are on the mattress and his front tight to Dean’s. Sam avoids his eyes. He was wrong. He can’t do this. Dean still stinks of that girl, that woman. The words that he practiced in the bathroom were wrong. The Dean in his imagination would shut the door for charity, not purr and kiss him for it.

“Sammy, it’s okay. It’s not wrong, man. I thought you, hell, you’re fourteen, I kinda reckoned you’d know that by now.”

Sam pales. He’s sure that Dean knows, that Dean can read his thoughts and can see through walls and hear through wood, but then he realises that his erection is against him. Sam looks down again and the fabric under his waistband is still a tent. The top is pressed into Dean’s side, into the curve of his ribs.

“Dean, I’m, I’m so—”

The apology dies. Dean is still holding him. “Dude, it’s okay. Man, it happens all the time. I can see a damn leaf on the ground and it’s up. It’s okay.”

“It’s not! I can’t even—!”

“You can. You wanna go in the bathroom and, uh, finish? Keep the magazine. Don’t worry.”

Sam breaks down and it’s still so hard. It twitches again. It’s so close to Dean and Sam can feel a small, damp patch tease his sensitive tip.

“I can’t, Dean, it’s, please, h-help me?”

It’s pathetic. Dean lifts his eyebrows and looks down. He can feel that wet spot too, and Sam buries his face in Dean’s bare shoulder to hide his embarrassment. Dean’s tense and Sam hates how stupid he’s been, but then a hand rubs at his back and Sam realises that there’s skin on skin, that the warmth of the night has started to stick his chest to his brother.

He hiccoughs. Dean’s mouth is so close. Sam closes his eyes and imagines his cock through the gap of his boxers. Dean could roll away at any time, or smirk to tease him. If he pulls back, Sam won’t have a chance to do this again.

“Sammy?”

Sam lets go of him and pushes down the top of his pyjamas until they’re below his ass. His dick bounces up in free air and Sam leans back in, lets the damp touch Dean’s skin. He pushes his hips forward and rolls precome over him. It’s supposed to be one line, but Sam’s shivering. He rocks and he catches his breath at the weak friction.

“Whoa, whoa, Sammy, you, uh, you wanna think about what you’re doing there?”

Dean’s hands are at Sam’s sides. Sam isn’t as strong as Dean, but he pushes against him. He makes Dean’s hands shift with him. Makes Dean feel how he can move for him. His cock leaks again and Sam watches a little slide down Dean’s stomach.

“I, I’m, I’m really, there’s, I’m wet, D-Dean.”

“Uh, yeah. You wanna go and—?”

They way that Sam arches up, his pyjamas drop to the backs of his knees. He’s pushed too far already, so he can’t see how anything could make it worse. Sam kisses Dean’s shocked lips. He tries to shove his tongue in, and when Dean opens his mouth to try and talk, Sam catches a lick inside. He moans, high-pitched. He licks again. Dean’s mouth is wide in surprise and Sam explores. He palms Dean’s chest and licks again. It’s messy, as wet as his dick, wetter. Dean swallows and Sam feels their tongues touch for half a moment. It jolts him, forces more precome from his tip. Dampens more of Dean’s side.

“Sam!”

Sam snaps his head back and pants. “I’ve read it, Dean, but, but I need practice, like hunting, right? I need to know what it’s like and you said you’d help and I really need help so you’ll help and show me and make it okay and Dean please I’m sorry I need it please just-just help me?”

It all comes out in one breath and it leaves Sam empty. Dean watches him. His mouth is still open and his lips are wet with Sam’s inexperienced kisses. Sam has never seen him like this. Dean could be a statue, a warm statue that moves at the chest, that bobs at the Adam’s apple.

“Sam—”

“You can fuck me!”

“Sam, Jesus, you’re really not—”

“You, you can! You can fuck my, my tight hole and I can touch you and suck you and I’ll be really, really good!”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re—”

“I can beg! I can, I know enough stuff, I can, you can tell me what’s good, okay? And then I’ll be best. I can be best. I’ll study really hard and only you can, you can put your, your dick in me and I’ll just fit you and that’ll be really, I mean, c’mon, Dean, please?”

Dean shakes his head. Sam imagines that he’s hot to the cheek and the hand on Dean’s chest is hotter. His chest must be flushed. For a few seconds, there’s a deep silence. Sam panics. He bites his lip again and grabs Dean’s wrist. He tugs it and shifts position to rest his cock on Dean’s palm.

“Dean, please? I can come for you. Like, whenever you want. I’ll be right here. You don’t have to, you don’t have to go anywhere, you can be here and I can make you come, too, right?”

He groans. Dean’s fingers wrap around him and Sam can hear the moan half-suppressed in Dean’s throat. Hopeful, he butts his cock through the tight circle of Dean’s hand. He whimpers again, quickens his short thrusts.

“Sammy—”

“Please, please, oh God, Dean, please—!”

A few more rocks and he’s spent, he’s gone. Sam orgasms with a cry and it paints through Dean’s hand and across the line of hair that points down to what Sam wants. Sam bends forward. His forehead drops back to Dean’s shoulder and harsh breaths heat the skin under his mouth.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Sammy, I’m really fucking sorry.”

Dean sounds hurt and Sam forces himself back up. He worries his gaze on him. “Dean?”

“All this because you don’t want me leaving you? Fuck, Sam. I’m, I’m not gonna leave you. I’m here. I got you.”

“No, it’s, you don’t understand! It’s more, it’s, please—”

It’s no use. The hand around Sam’s now-soft cock pulls away. Sam thinks that Dean must wipe it on the side of the bed. He tries to speak again, but the hard, faraway look in Dean’s eyes silence him. Dean’s arms encircle him and pull up the back of Sam’s pyjamas. He pulls Sam and makes him lie down so that his head is over Dean’s heart. Sam wants to try again, tell him what he wants. He can’t. Dean hurts and he can’t.


End file.
